And Out Come the Wolves
by Distance
Summary: More often than not, the facts aren't enough on their own. So what do you do when your last-ditch effort isn't enough? The average person considers their cause lost. But this crew is far from the average. Post-BDM, slightly AU. Rating subject to change.
1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER: Firefly, Serenity and all characters, terminology, places and names used within those works and all subsequent licensed works are copyright Joss Whedon, Tim Minear, Fox, Universal and affiliates. Don't sue me.

A/N: I came up with this idea a while ago, but never got around to starting the writing process. Since conception, Joss has gone and added to our 'verse with the Better Days series. I will do my best to incorporate this into what I haven't yet written, but the plot was already decided – I'm not going to change the whole story because of it. That considered – this will be slightly AU.

Also, to avoid falling into the trap of making it an over dramatized and obvious event that all readers can see coming from a mile away, I'll just come out and say that Wash and Book are alive. I've got my reasons for thinking they should be. Ask if you feel so inclined. But all the events of Serenity did take place – Wash and Book just happened to live through them.

That's enough talk. Let's get on with it…

…**And Out Come the Wolves**

by Distance

Prologue

"Get him to the infirmary, now!"

The harsh command cut through the night's sky, harsher than the dying down gunfire. It was as if the voice's intensity commanded both sides of their scuffle to silence. It held a certain tone many of the surrounding witnesses had never heard. None except one.

"Sir!" Zoe grabbed Mal's arm, stopping him mid-stride. The look on her face painted a clear story for the Captain to read, one that he recognized right away. He appreciated the silence, though. Behind her, Jayne dragged the limp body of a man – a young man – back to the boat, leaving quite a trail of blood in his wake.

"Doesn't matter. Gorram _go se_ doesn't matter. His coat is still brown." His eyes had a certain forced softness to them that he only ever bothered to put on for Zoe, but his face was hard and determined. He didn't want that kid in the infirmary any more than she did, but what had to be done had to be.

* * *

_Three days earlier…_

"Zeke? Who the hell is Zeke?" Jayne asked, slamming whatever his choice borderline gasoline-alcohol was for the day. It had been decent of them, helpin' out folk with what they did on Miranda and all, but it didn't pay. Though he'd not admit it out loud, it was one job he didn't mind doing for free. But not only was it free, it cost them a sizeable amount of coin, and that wasn't even calculating Serenity. The help from the operative did move things along without having to come out of pocket, but the old girl still had a long way to go.

Anything not guaranteeing money was nowhere near Jayne's to-do list. A new client definitely didn't sound like guaranteed money to him.

"Big fella. I know the name, and the reputation." Wash spoke up, sounding a bit nervous. And he had good reason. "What I'm not getting is why we're working for him? Didn't he want to steer clear of us? Isn't that why we've had to deal with Fanty and Mingo in the first place?" He had his doubts about this job. Him having doubts meant he was on Jayne's side. Being on Jayne's side made Wash more nervous than anything this Zeke could throw at them.

"That's right. I seem to recall being called a 'liability' when we approached him last, Sir." After almost losing her man, Zoe had become inclined to take his side over the Captain's, even if she didn't necessarily mean it.

Unfortunately, Mal knew this wasn't one of those times. If he were in her shoes – their shoes, correcting his thoughts as he remember the rest of the crew – this would all stink something funny to him, too.

"I know it. But what we done has had strange effects. Fanty and Mingo won't touch us. I imagine Badger's feelin' a mite similar, but I ain't fixin' to work with that low-life anytime soon anyhow. Leechan… well, yeah. All of which, I ain't troubled too greatly about. Losin' the unwanted scum ain't one of my concerns, but the lost work won't help fuel the boat."

"So shouldn't that be puttin' us lower on the list of new clients," Wash questioned, his own heavily sarcastic version of Captain-Dumbie-Talk heavy in the air.

"Should, but ain't – hence the strangeness. 'Parently this Zeke fellow ain't terribly fond of the Alliance, so we're bumped up."

A mention of Alliance – perhaps some talk of history was going on? Simon's mind awoke from its stupor at the thought that something other than crime – something he might have been familiar – was discussed. He felt so terribly out of place as these war-room meetings. "Was he an Independent?"

"Not as far as I can tell. If he was, I never heard of him." She was fairly sure, but Zoe turned, as did the other six heads in the room, to Mal for the answer.

"Most like he's just a business man that's sick of paying Alliance payrolls out of his profits." A lie.

Well, not a definite lie. But certainly a very unlikely scenario. No one got the kind of clout and name recognition a guy like Zeke had by just trying to cut the Alliance out of a few thousand credits of back taxes. But the crew seemed to buy it, even those that should be smart enough to know better. He appreciated the uncontesting silence. If Zoe or Wash had any questions, they'd know they'd find out when some privacy was to be had. As for the rest, no need to spook the youngin's based on a suspicion.

* * *

This bar was shady enough. Not located in the best part of town – which, surprisingly enough, there were some decently ritzed looking parts of – but not exactly the slums. All sorts of disreputables scattered about, drinks a plenty being served. A few fairly common looking folk seeming somewhat uncomfortable, but doing their best to look like they fit in all while cursing whatever friend told them this was a "nice place." But something was off.

He knew Mal wouldn't want him drinking yet – he barely tolerated him drinking on the job as it was, let alone with this fancy new boss-man around – but Jayne couldn't stop himself from unconsciously running a hand across the counter of the bar as he passed. He paused. That was it.

The Captain always needed to meet a boss or target or enemy or anything of the like face to face. That's how he read things. He read the people. Mal was a complete an utter moron at the best of times, but even Jayne had to admit that things did turn out a mite better when Mal got to judge a person up front. Jayne didn't read people like that. He read a person base on the place he kept. Whether it be a home, an office, a business – whatever – that's how he saw things. His momma had noticed this in him at an early age. She wasn't much educated, but she liked to talk fancy every now and again when she felt so inclined. She gave him some psycho-babble explaining it to him, but he didn't much care. It was there and every so often it help. Good enough for him.

And that's what was up. This whole place had a wrong feeling to it. Maybe not if they were there for a drink – he woulda just figured this wasn't his kind of bar – but they were here for work. And for work, this place was too… clean. Bad lighting, lots of corners, a few too many doors and a few too little employees – all shady enough for the likes of what must've been dealt with. Way too clean, though. Something wasn't right about all this.

Jayne fell back into line behind Zoe, who had her usual spot behind Mal. As they approached the door farthest from the entrance – the Stereotypical Shady Boss Man Office Door – they were cut off by a hulking, tan figure in a nice black dress shirt.

"Sorry, only Reynolds."

Mal snorted and broke the uneasy silence that had settled since they left Serenity. The silence hit around the same time they all simultaneously noticed that this town – almost city, for that matter – was a little too nice and well put together for a border moon.

"All due respect, I don't know your boss. That means I ain't got any terrible inclination to trust him – at least not enough to leave the help behind."

"I can assure you, Captain, that it will just be you and Mr. Z in that room. Everyone's here for business, not trouble. Unfortunately, whether you trust me or not, you don't really have a choice. You alone, or no job."

Alright, that did it. The nice streets. The few well dressed folk. The clean bar. And now a meeting alone – this was ruttin' wrong. And Jayne was fixin' to do something about it - -

"Besides, your crew can take their leave at the bar. Drinks on the house."

Nevermind.

* * *

Zeke's rather staggering stature stood in full glory over the seated Malcolm Reynolds. Seated or not, the Captain would've felt like a midget – the man couldn't have been much less than seven feet. "So, I take it you understand you're in the big leagues now. Bigger pay off, but bigger risk. Moreso than that, bigger sacrifices and… bending of morals. Of course, you can always back out. Stay a big fish in a little pond, but something tells me you ain't that kind of Captain."

Mal allowed himself a small smirk. He had always heard rumors that he had a rep for bent morals and a few unneccisary bodies. Sometimes he hated it. He didn't today. "Even if'n I was, I ain't got much choice. We're hard up for work, and I got a crew to be providin' for."

"Yes, and I've heard tales of how pliable your morals can become when survival is at stake." The memory of his poor Serenity, all dolled up like a gorram reaver flashed in Mal's mind's eye. As if he knew, the large man took on a sickening grin. "A trait that seems to be mutually beneficial."

"I suppose so."

"You understand, I can't rightly trust you yet. You pulled off quite a thing with what your crew did. Most others couldn't. Most others wouldn't. But I neither know the details nor do I care to. I don't know if you can follow my orders."

At that, Mal's smirk slid away along with any pleasure he might've been developing towards the way this meeting was going. "I seem to remember this conversation taking place last time we talked about work. If you can't trust me, why am I here?"

"Before I couldn't trust you, didn't need you and wasn't willing to find out if you were worth the trouble. Now I just can't trust you."

"Sounds like your fixin' to give us a test," Mal commented, eyebrow raising.

"No test, just a small part of a big job. You and your crew blow it – it still has a confident chance to stand without you, so it ain't exactly trusting you yet. You don't, there'll be more. Big parts to play. If you _do_ botch it, well… I doubt more work from me will be on the top of your list of worries."

"Still sounds like a test. We don't test for free."

"Wouldn't expect you to. I'm sure you know the drill – half now, half later. First half's with my man. He should be meeting your people soon."

That sounded fair…

"Wait! What do you mean, 'your man'?"

Zeke let out a hearty laugh. "Of course. I told you – you have a small part. You and your crew are as extras in this. I provide the star."

* * *

A/N: Please review! I'm putting this on FF.N so I can get feedback on whether or not I should even be wasting my time with this little writing exercise. Constructive criticism is more than welcome, but I don't mind ego boosts. ;)


	2. The Botch, Part 1

A/N: This includes a bit of unaired material, specifically the _Dead or Alive_ script. If you haven't read it, no worries, the only information from it that's vital to this is explained. Thanks for the review. Got more than expected faster than expected. Makes a boy fuzzy all over.

**...And Out Come the Wolves**

by Distance

Chapter 1:

The Botch – Part 1

'Small. A bit beat up looking,' was the description he was given. An understatement. This class of ship looked beat up at the best of times, and now was certainly not the best of times for the boat. She wasn't anything to look at to say the least. She looked flyable, but still had minor haul breeches and various cosmetic flaws. If he had been the prissy type to care about such things, the vessel was in such a way that he might've refused the job over it. But she was inconspicuous. And she was an aught-three. Didn't tend to shake like the older-class Fireflies.

This would do.

* * *

River occupied the pilot's chair when her boat was waved. Innocent curiosity shown on her face as she answered, expecting to see either Zoe or the Captain. She started a bit when she was surprised – when she should've seen it coming – to see a face she didn't recognize. Even over waves, her reader ability was still strong. She mentally chided herself for her carelessness. _'Slow down, Albatross. We're not out of the woods yet…'_

The somewhat blurry, somewhat wary looking face seemed obviously startled as well. He didn't expect to see someone so young on the other end. _"I.. uhh… I need to speak to whoever is in command."_

River looked around the cockpit in search of something for a moment. Then she muted the wave and stretched as much as she could to reach the intercom. "Wash. Need to play pilot."

* * *

Simon quickly stepped over to the intercom in the infirmary. He had grown used to Zoe's interruptions on him when he ran his tests on Wash. Her's were always out of concern. Not to say that the rest weren't concerned, but that was not always the source of their intrusion. Simon understood the man had many duties that were important to the operation of Serenity – especially when the ship was in such bad shape – but the man had just barely escaped death. Even now, in the safety of the ship's ward, "escape" was a loose term.

Wash had lived through something no one should have. And while his heart still beat, his lungs took breath, his brain still thought and his personality still bubbled with an oddly warming sarcasm, the fate of the rest of his body had yet to be decided.

So even though it was his sister, whom he had taken even greater precaution around since Miranda, his voice sounded drained and annoyed. "What is it, River"

_"An untrustworthy man asked to speak with whoever is in command. Wash must act until the Captain returns."_

Wash's eyelids barely slid open as he cocked an eyebrow. "Ohh. I get to play? I like play time." His words slurred with a mixture of painkillers, fatigue and hammy-acting.

A concerned look and dismissive nod later, Simon reached for the com again. "Can you patch him through to the infirmary, River? Wash is in no condition to make it to the cockpit."

"_Can't. It's a wave. He wants to see the Captain, not just hear."_

With frustration Simon glanced around the room, as if some sort of medical tool would remedy the situation. "Well, you'll just have t –"

_"Nevermind. I have it."_

* * *

Zoe looked a bit concerned as she watch Mal step hastily out of the bar's back room. "Got the job, sir?"

"That we do," Mal replied, not taking a moment to either glance her way or falter in his step.

Grabbing Jayne's arm as she passed the bar, Zoe silently matched his pace as a wary confusion set across her face. Jayne promptly abandoned the angry tirade he had on the tip of his tongue, in response to the rude interruption of his drink, when he saw the speed at which his partners were fleeing the establishment. "Trouble?"

"Not necessarily," Mal called over his shoulder as he rounded the corner, making a beeline for the parked mule. "Zeke sent someone to meet us at the boat."

"We fixin' to get crossed, Sir?"

"Not rightly sure. Doubtful. But I ain't aimin' to find out."

* * *

At first, he was mad. Then, a tiny bit in the back of his head thought the gall of the girl was a mite cute. Now, he was frustrated and just ready to get on with the damn thing.

"_Why not?"_ the young face marred by obviously false indignation coming through the wave demanded. _"You don't think a woman is capable of captaining a regal vessel like this? Chauvinistic male!"_

Stifling an audible 'arg,' the man rolled his eyes and then locked with the woman on the other side of his comlink. "No. Not at all. But it is with measures of unlikeliness that a person – male or female – of your age would have the financial stability to own 'n operate a transport ship. And I've never met a girl named Malcolm before."

River's eyebrow visibly cocked. That was a valid argument. _"I had very strange parents."_

"Would you –" He cut himself off quickly, the sound of a distant but fast approaching hovercraft reaching his ears. Smirking slightly, he turned his attention back to the digital image of River. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry into such personal parental matters. You're right Malcolm. My small, chauvinistic mind just couldn't fathom a lowly woman named Malcolm captaining this boat."

On cue, a mule with three people – three people that _actually_ matched the descriptions he had – pulled up to the cargo doors of the Firefly. A man of average build, a slight bit taller than most, sporting stereotypical retired Browncoat garb was the first to hop out and speak. "You must be Zeke's man."

"Apparently, if I must. And who must you be?"

"Malcolm Reynold, Captain of –"

"Liar!" the man suddenly cut in. "You can't trick me. I've been talking to Captain Malcolm Reynolds this whole time!" He masterfully kept a straight face as he emphatically waved his comlink in the air for all to see.

"_No!_ _Bizhui, hun dan!_"

"What?! Let me see that!" Mal's eyes widened in surprise as he stared into the viciously snatched screen. Behind him, their new passenger erupted into violent laughter. "Hmph."

"Wow." The man patted Mal on the shoulder before continuing with his lone bag into the cargo bay. "You guys are gonna be great to work with."

Kaylee stopped in her tracks. She was excited enough as it was for the new work. She had already planned on the nerve of poor little Reaver-Serenity, certainly still fresh in Mal's mind, to get him to submit to some of her parts demands. And now this? What a good day.

"We takin' on folk again?" she beamed, barely controlling her near yell, at Mal. "Shiny!"

Her smile faltered, seeing her Cap'n's face all contorted with worry and whatnot. "Ain't takin' on no one," he muttered as he passed.

Zoe approached, a bit calmer looking than Mal. "He's just part of the job."

"Oh." Kaylee looked down, pondering. Just part of the job. Means he's temporary. Her smile slowly returned as she realized that she didn't care. Serenity had 8 again.

* * *

"Hey!" Mal called out as he crossed the cat walk towards the cockpit.

The man looked up and cracked a half smile. "The name's Jude, Captain Reynolds."

"Right. Anyway, we need to be havin' a talk."

Jude automatically started following after the Captain, who seem to not be feeling like altering his course as he spoke. "Your boss ain't much on sharin' detail. I understand the need to be impressively ambiguous on most matters if you're lookin' to scare folk, but I hope you understand the need to be very plain and up front on certain matters if you're lookin' for help."

As they entered the bridge, Jude had barely taken notice of the man seated in the pilot's chair until he spoke up. "It is a mite hard to set a course to Mystery Planet With Job On It." Wash was having a good day. It was the first time in recent history Mal could recall the man being able to talk with the calm evenness he always maintained. At first glance, everything seemed fine and unsuspecting – until you noticed the folded wheelchair next to the controls. "Really, I tried. Cortex had absolutely nothing on it."

"We're headed for Verbena."

"What's on Verbena that's worth half a hump?" Jayne asked as he entered, looking a mite upset at the news.

"Lots of things. Most of which don't concern you." He lowered an irritated look on the big man. This crew was question-y. Maybe this wouldn't be quite so fun. He sighed and continued. "Most of which don't concern me. Zeke ain't much better at getting talkative with me either. What we're caring about is an assembly factory."

Mal quirked an eyebrow as he cut in. "We're robbin' folk?"

An overloud, dismissive laugh flew from Jude. "Don't come off like you're above it. Any quick glance on the Cortex tells otherwise."

Leaning back on the control panel, the Captain brought a thoughtful finger to his chin – internally seeming to either ponder this fact or curse this suddenly ever-present 'rep' of his. "Folks on Verbena are good, hard working. Not some rich _hun dan_s or oppressive dictators. I don't particularly like robbin' from that lot…" Jude looked ready to interject and Mal caught it as he raised a hand to silence the man. "But you're right. I ain't above it. Not a fact I'm terribly proud of. But it's robbin'. The same work we've been gettin' for years. What about all this talk of the big pond?"

"You're robbin'. But that ain't the job." A self-appreciative glow lifted the corner of Jude'' face. "The rest is for me to handle."

"Fine by me. Less trouble and still get paid." Apparently pleased with the amount of information he overheard and now done with the conversation, Jayne casually left the room.

Mal countered this easiness, thrusting a good bit of tension back in the room like sand in an enemy's eyes. He stood, quickly and stiffly. "Well it ain't fine by me. You ain't part of this crew. As much as this means you don't got obligation to tell me what you're plannin', it means I don't got obligation to help you out if you don't."

Jude's features set hard instantly, but took a deep breath. Steady. With a sigh and rolled eyes, he turned from the retreating form of Cobb back to Mal. "Can't tell you what I _am_ doin', but perhaps what I ain't'll put your mind t' ease. I ain't killin' no one – lest they try to kill me first. I ain't takin' no money from poor folk. I ain't doin' a thing to double-cross anyone, you included. And I ain't doin' nothing that'll get you in the way of gettin' pinched anymore than what you're already doin' by robbin' the place."

"Don't think you'll attract attention?" Mal waved frustrated hands at the air. "I'm not a stupid man. I've been to Verbena since the War, since all that Rejuevination After Unification _go se_. It's Alliance now. Meanin' this factory is Alliance. I ain't afraid to be stealin' from those bastards, but just how exactly does this all equate to us not riskin' gettin' pinched?"

"Few months back," the man recalled, eyes a mite calmer. "Alliance had a pretty factory there go all sorts of up in smoke. Lots of innocent - - "

"No need for the story," Mal quickly interjected. "We've all heard it before."

A hint of understanding flashed across Jude. "Anyway, Alliance never much bothered with it after. They got the publicity they wanted for the R.A.U. project. Then high-tailed it. Won't be robbin' from them this time around."

Folding his arms across his chest, Mal settled back down near Wash, putting his weigh against the controls again. From hollerin' to the picture of poise in no time flat. "Well ain't that a shame."

A/N: So, thoughts? PLEASE review. If you're anything like me, you probably hate OC (I know I do), but I couldn't help it.


	3. The Botch, Part 2

DISCLAIMER: Firefly, Serenity and all characters, terminology, places and names used within those works and all subsequent licensed works are copyright Joss Whedon, Tim Minear, Fox, Universal and affiliates. Don't sue me.

**… And Out Come the Wolves**

Chapter 2

The Botch, Part 2

_You sure you got it? _Wash's voice crackled, nervous over the intercom.

River rolled her eyes to no one in particular. "Yes. Not as difficult as it seems."

_Hey, now! Sometimes things - -_ The noise cut off with the press of a button. River directed her gaze to the stars, then down to the dinosaurs cluttering the control panel. "Is he always this difficult?"

"Usually." Mal's voice drifted in from the corridor, accompanied by the thud of boots on the grated metal walkway. "Moreso now that he's bed-ridden."

"And you?" She asks meekly, genuinely fearing his answer. She does not desire to be the runaway. Crew… that might be getting a few steps ahead, she reminds herself constantly. Feet will get twisted and tangled and the dance will fail.

Mal rests a reassuring hand on her shoulder after patting her head. "I'll just watch."

* * *

Jude stood in the cargo bay, waiting for the others. Captain Malcolm Reynolds. He had heard the name, and all the fancy rumors and reputations that came along with it in recent years, but there were more than rumors. Sargent Malcolm Reynolds, perhaps? He did seem rather fond of that brown coat and blood red shirt.

"Captain says you're callin' the shots on this one." Zoe's voice cut in through the relative silence, eyeing the boy something fierce. "That so?"

Jude turned from the slightly discolored wall panel, tarnished from handling. "Seems to be." He looked her over quickly. Tall and strong. Seemed like a fighter. "That gonna be an issue?"

She eyed him a bit more closely. Something about the way he talked. "He's the Captain."

"Ah," he sighed, understanding something. "I suppose you're the extremely loyal type."

"You could say that."

* * *

Nothing but dirt and their passenger in the mule's mirrors, Zoe deftly piloted the old, yellow junker off to their point of entry into this little job. Jayne checked and re-checked the spare clips and grenades in the rear hatches, then turned a quizzical expression to Captain Reynolds.

"I don't get it, Mal."

"That's quite a change, Jayne!" Mal beamed, taking pleasure in ruffling Jayne's feathers this early in the day.

Jayne put on a false hurt face before continuing. "Ha ha. Anyway, we're _supposed_ to skuff the gorram job?"

"Yep," Mal spoke, patting his firearm as he meaningfully inclined his head towards Vera. "We make like we're after some money, make like we can't handle 'em that's s'posed t' come for us. Then start the shootin'. We're just a diversion. I figure it's up our alley, what with all that skuffin' and attention grabbin' we usually do anyway. But this time around, we get to skuff, cause a rukus _and_ get paid - best of both worlds. Hell, might be considerin' a career change."

Zoe quirked an eyebrow at the irony. "At our rate of mess up, we might be able to retire soon, Sir."

Mal daintily touched his just. "I may jus' faint."

* * *

The image seemed to materialize suddenly in her mind's eye as these things so often did. She let it relax her. No longer did she let her fear get the best of her… or at least not nearly as often – nothing like it was before Miranda. The Reavers were no longer inside her. No more screaming. She could hear. Couldn't always understand, but now she could listen and _try_. Just that knowledge – no Reavers, no Miranda, no Operative – relaxed her, but this sight itself was far from relaxing.

She could _feel_ his relaxation vanish. His brown coat seemed suddenly very red and angry. Then she saw. He sat, angry and red but not bloody and red and she relaxed more. Not _his _trouble. Then she walked a bit further, a hallway suddenly stretching enormously ahead of her. The warrior women stood. Her color didn't change – rarely did – but she had raised her sawed-off defensively. But no hurt. Not _her_ trouble. She walked a bit further and faster, anxious to find her answer. The man-ape. He was perfectly calm, his color purple. He was strangely peaceful and filled with a child like glee as lay patiently, grenade in hand, waiting to start his game of catch. Not _his _trouble. Not _their_ trouble.

She walked further and then… nothing.

_Nothing._

The hallway turned slowly black, a shadow swallowing it. She looked behind her. No Man-Ape. No Warrior Woman. No Captain. Just darkness. So she ran, frantically. Where had they gone? Where? In her panic, she tripped, but did not fall. Hands she could not see caught her. She felt brown leather and callused palms and she reasoned more than realized, quickly recalculating the steps and general direction of her run. It was her Captain, red angry and right where she left him.

They hadn't left. She just couldn't….

River's eyes snapped open, and she fled.

_

* * *

_

_Mal!_

"Now ain't 'xactly the best a times t' be chattin', Wash!" Mal hid for cover behind a decent sized rock. Thank the 'verse that this job was on a bit of desert - plenty of bits and peices to flee to. To punctuate his point, Mal popped up for a few wildly chosen shots.

_I appreciate the sentiment, Mal, but this might be important…_

"It better be, you _hun dan_!" Mal shouted as he fell back to the ground, a graze burning in his arm.

_I took the liberty of runnin' our new friend's name on the Cortex. He's a blackheart._

"What!?" Surprisingly, it was Zoe's shock that cut through the air. Zoe's calm breaking – that certainly got Jayne's attention.

"What in th' ruttin' gorram Hell's goin' on?"

And then, their guest of honor was in sight and running towards them. "I'm with th' big fella'! What the Hell are you doin'?"

Mal thanked his lucky stars for the slight reprieve in return. New information meant new plan – no matter how slight. No matter if it only really mattered in his own head. He eyed Jude in a new light, resizing and refiguring the man.

He opened his mouth to verbally fire back at the younger man, but snapped it shut. The reprieve was over. Gunfire filled the air again, this time spilling blood. The new plan - along with the old plan and every other ruttin' no good plan he ever had - went to Hell.

* * *

Kaylee reluctantly pulled away from his embrace, but almost leapt right back into his arms when she heard his quite puppy dog whimper. She had discovered, since the consumation of their relationship, that Dr. Tam could very easily shed his prim and proper skin for that of an immature, sexually starved child in the right conditions. She quickly decided that it was darn cute, too.

She smiled and she pushed him back down. "Now, now. When a girl says no…"

"But –"

"Oh hush. I'm jus' thinkin' we should head to the bridge. They been gone a good while and River's the only one up there." She gave him her best pleading eyes. "You know I get worried when they're gone so long."

Clearing his throat, Simon found it a bit easier to articulate his thoughts into actual words with the help of the distance Kaylee put between them. "I suppose you're right. Mal does have a tendency to come back injured – and there are much better ways I could think to spend my evening." Simon's smile suddenly became small and shy once the words left his lips. _Wuh de ma_ he still felt like an idiot when he flirted, but it made Kaylee smile. That was motivation enough to force him to get over himself.

"Oh…" Kaylee smiled coyly at him as she grabbed his shirt. "Does the doctor need someone to give him a check-up?"

"Well –"

"Simon!"

Both turned shocked eyes to the doorway, hearing River's cry accompanied by loud, hurried footsteps. Kaylee quickly jumped up and moved, letting Simon to his feet. "River!"

"Simon!" She slid to a stop as she rounded a corner. Her eyes were wide with fear. "Simon! I can't see!"

Their eyes locked and Simon almost broke down, grabbing her by the arm and rushing in the direction of the infirmary. Their eyes did lock, right? No time for questions. He rushed on until Mal's very irate cut in over all of Serenity's coms.

_Kaylee! Get to the engine room!_

"But –"

_And River, to the bridge! Now! No questions. No comments. GO!_

"_Shi, shi_!" River called as she ripped herself from Simon's grasp.

"What is that – Wait!" Simon frantically looked to Kaylee for support, who stepped cautiously towards River. "River! You can't see. Mal can't expect you to be able to – River!"

She swiftly ascended to steps leading away from the passenger dorms. "_Bizui, niou fun_! I can see fine!"

Both Simon and Kaylee froze at that, watching River's combat boots disappear.

"Did she just say she could say?" Simon's face was skewed with confusion.

Kaylee's on the other hand, was twisted with humor. "Did she just call you cow poop?"

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the delay. New job. Not only has it monopolized my time, it also keeps me out of town 5 days a week. So writing times are few and far between. That said, apologies for the lightweightedness of this chapter. I figured it's better to post what I got now, cuz who knows when I can write again. That's also the explanation for the oddly light note this chapter ends on, considering someone just got shot.

As always, please rate and review. I'll love you long time. Ain't I a cheap date?


	4. Dead Hearts

DISCLAIMER: Firefly, Serenity and all characters, terminology, places and names used within those works and all subsequent licensed works are copyright Joss Whedon, Tim Minear, Fox, Universal and affiliates. Don't sue me.

**… And Out Come the Wolves**

Chapter 3  
Dead Hearts

The cargo door to Serenity seemed to open at a snail's pace amidst the chaos Malcolm Reynolds was so desperately trying to escape. This hadn't gone right. The gunfire had been foreseen, even planned. But this was getting out of hand and Mal was getting a mite sick of things getting out of hand.

His temper immediately flared at the sight of Dr. Tam just standing on the stairs to the cargo bay with a dumb look on his face. "Get him to the infirmary, now!" He spat his words as he pointed down at the limp and bleeding body being dragged by Jayne.

"Sir!" It was the first time in more years than he could remember that Zoe's raised voice held that kind of anger in it.

"Doesn't matter. Gorram _go se_ doesn't matter. His coat is still brown."

Simon's eyes widened exponentially once he saw the amount of red staining the ground behind Jayne. The weight of the situation sinking in, shocked, stupified Simon faded and Dr. Tam took over. Running to help Jayne with the boy, he quickly tallied the state of the infirmary in his head. "Kaylee! Go help Wash off the exam table and into a wheelchair. I need to clear path for Jude."

He did his best to assess the situation as they made the seemingly endless journey to where he could properly work. He saw one bullet wound through the shoulder. It seemed somewhat clean and, though it bled, could not possibly be responsible for the mess they left behind.

He and Jayne rounded the corner just in time to see Kaylee gently lower Wash into his chair. As Jayne hoisted the injured man onto the table, Simon spotted the second bullet hole. It was an entry wound in the side of the thigh. After a quick search, Simon dreadfully noted the lack of an exit. Adding this to the amount of blood spilt most likely meant that the bullet hit and was still lodged in an artery. In his professional medical opinion, this was bad.

"Kaylee, go get Mal."

Kaylee nearly ran into the Captain in her rush, not realizing he was already outside the door. "I'm right here."

In a moment of desperation, Simon looked at Mal, wide eyed. The moment passed quickly though as the touch of latex covered his hands, forcing his mind back to his duty. "We need to stop as soon as possible and bring him to a professional medical facility. He needs a blood transfusion."

Mal stared hard at the serene face of the unconscious Jude. "Can't. Do what you can to patch him up, but that's all we're givin' him."

"Cap'n!" Kaylee shouted, eyes wide

Shocked at the level of disregard for human life, even coming from Mal, Simon allowed a bit of edge in voice as his deft hands paused their meticulous tasks. "You can't be serious, Mal! Doing what I can will not give this man back the blood he lost. There's a chance he'll - -"

Mal's voice grew cold as his eyes darted away from Jude. "That's a chance we'll have to take."

"Sir!" Wash cut in, his grogginess chased by the weight of the situation. "We're no more than a few hours out of Dyton. They might have something capable of helping."

"That's not likely. And this ain't no discussion. Doc, patch him up best you can. Everyone else out." Mal punctuated his command with a hard point to the door. He turned and eyed Simon. "And when you're done, dope him and lock the door." Mal quickly turned and exited the room, leaving no time for further disagreements.

Wash quickly, or rather as quickly as he could manage, wheeled after him. "Mal, I know this kid might be a problem but don't you think - -"

"What I think, Wash, is –" Mal cut himself off as he turned. Seeing his pilot confined to a wheelchair was a hard thing for the Captain. He only had time for a few seconds of 'it shoulda been me's before he continued, his tone a little more level. "I just don't want that kid wakin' up and thinkin' that we're the ones that put him in like that, not the one's helpin'. Now, you know as well as I do Doc ain't no slouch. He'll keep him alive 'til we can get back to Paquin and leave him with them that's responsible for him. That's all the kindness I can spare at the moment."

* * *

"You're getting good at the quick getaways, lil albatross."

She felt his presence and voice more than heard it. There was so much anger – so much _red_ – on him when he had first returned to Serenity today. It wasn't gone, but hidden and hidden well. Mal made sure to guard his thoughts around her and a part of her screamed resentment. She didn't like that part.

"Have to." River rotated, legs tucked under her body as she sat in Wash's chair, to face Mal. "It's the only kind I get to practice."

"Seems so. You did good, but I want you in your bunk. Get some rest." His voice was soft but firm. River could recognize the different between a suggestion and an order, no matter how politely put. She could tell that this distinction was where much of the red had come from – everyone always argued and didn't understand how to use ears instead of mouths.

"Yes, Captain." With inhuman grace she was almost instantly on her feet, her combat boots inexplicably left behind, her craving for Serenity beneath her feet too strong to resist.

Mal quirked an eyebrow as he sat, mumbling to himself. "How is it the teenager is the only one that ever listens to me? Shouldn't she be all… rebellious?"

The Captain sighed and reached for the keyboard, bringing up the wave he had secretly saved earlier that day. He looked again with disbelief at the name that sent it. _Lloyd Garrison._ He had heard the rumors of the old man still kicking somewhere in the 'Verse, but never really believed them. Suppose he should be getting used to finding his thoughts on beliefs proved wrong.

His hand, not shaking, Mal was very proud to say, reached out to resume the wave. A face, old and withered from stress, surely, much more than age, materialized on it. The concern permanently etched on the older man's face faded as recognition sunk in.

"_Malcolm Reynold!"_

"General." Mal greeted the man with a nod.

"_The war's over, Mal. It's just Lloyd. On a rare occasion it's Mr. Garrison, but this isn't one of those occasions_."

"Yeah, it said Lloyd on your wave. No more William?" Despite the forced informal language, something in Mal's voice and demeanor still screamed soldier.

"_After the war the middle name just seemed more functional. Hard for General William Garrison to find work. Much easier for Mr. Lloyd_."

Mal, when question, had told himself, his crew, Alliance officials, INTERPOL and countless strangers that the war was over. He was Captain, not Sargent. Zoe was First Mate, not Corporal. In 7 years, he had thought he had finally, truly convinced himself. Both those familiar lines in that leather hard skin – that voice and the memories of shouted commands that came with it – it all had his trigger finger itching to shed some Purple blood.

"_Mal, I have a job for you_…"

* * *

Mal looked out at his crew gathered in front of him and was suddenly taken back to those awful days stuck on Serenity Valley, looking over what was left of his ragged troops and meager supplies, assessing what his manpower could handle.

"We've got a bit of an obstacle to tackle. We just got waved for a job. It's decent pay, but more importantly it's to an old friend."

"What do your old friends have to do with this crew?" Jayne cut in.

Mal sighed, but set his features. "My old friends mean it's a job he specifically wants us to handle. Decent pay and a guarantee that we won't have any other crews meddlin' with our affairs. Far as I'm concerned – and I _am_ the Captain if that still counts for a gorram thing around here – that's enough motivation, friend or no. But there's a catch."

Jayne got up and walked to the counter, aiming to refill his drink. "Well there's a shock."

Mal glared hard at the mercenary's back before continuing. "As I was saying, there's a catch. The job requires a two man team - a pilot, which we got a couple of, so that's no problem. The second needs a proficiency with computers that I haven't ever noticed any of us possessing –" The captain paused with an apologetic look to Kaylee who considered herself one of Serenity's computer people. "We need to get our hands on a bonafide hacker."

"Wash." Everyone's eyes made their way to Simon as he spoke up. "What about our patient?"

"Right…" the injured pilot's voice trailed off as he internally cursed Simon for putting him on the spot. "This may not be what you want to hear right now, Mal," Wash cautiously surveyed his Captain as he spoke. Like walking a minefield. "I got a chance to talk to that kid. He sounds like he'd be perfect."

"Kid? What kid?" Mal cried sharply.

"I believe he's referring to the young man we've left doped and bleeding to death in our infirmary, Captain." Simon spoke with an icy sarcasm far too similar to that of Inara for Mal's taste. As if the conversation alone wasn't enough, the memory only added fuel to the fire.

"Him?" Mal asked, nearly screaming. His indignation sent his fists pounding down upon the table. "No. Not at all. Not now. Not ever."

"Why not, Cap'n? He seems nice enough and he's been so helpful and all. An' ain't he a war buddy?" Kaylee's puppy dog eyes searched out Simon, looking for back up.

A hand from Mal stayed Simon, as he stared down his mechanic. "And you hit the problem on the nose, lil' Kaylee."

"I thought we liked war buddies?" Simon managed to butt in.

"He's a blackheart." Zoe's simple, matter-of-fact if not cryptic response cut the arguments short for a moment.

After letting a moment of uncomfortable silence pass, Jayne loudly let his body fall to the chair at the opposite end of the table from Mal. "A blackheart? What's a gorram blackheart? Sounds like some _go se _fairytale monster."

Mal paced, hand lifted to his chin, his opposing arm folded across his chest. "A cheesy, cliché, storybook nickname for something that should never curse the pages of a storybook." He cast a sidelong glance at Zoe. In their silent language, he let her know he was too flustered and exhausted to relay the story this time around. She obliged.

"When the war was over, lying there in Serenity Valley, we waited near a week for an Alliance rescue ship to pick us up. Our small platoon and a few others scattered about. We were still semi-organized and easy to find," She paused, her eyes turning a shade darker at the memory. "But we weren't the only ones left. In war, people get separated, cut off from the group. In the more sizable battles, like the one at Serenity, some end up getting mixed in with the rubble and corpses. Usually, search teams are deployed to find any survivors in like situations."

Mal stopped mid-stride, letting his eyes survey his audience, making sure he had their attention. "Which the Alliance didn't feel terribly inclined to spare. Some made themselves known, left that Hell no more than a few days after us. A little disturbed, but nothing a good meal and a lifetime of sorrow couldn't cure. Some… Some weren't so lucky."

"Some of them stayed there for weeks," Zoe continued. "Some of them months. Things like that you don't just…" her voice cut out suddenly. Like a soldier, she swallowed the emotion as soon as appeared. It was fast enough to make the crew wonder if they had imagined it. "The Alliance, in an attempt to save face, awarded those that got left the Gold Heart Medal. 'To commemorate the strength of will it took to survive such impossible odds.' It was this little, black, heart shaped pin with gold trimming."

Mal stood at the head of the table, bent slightly, supporting himself on the surface he faced. "As we know, in the Alliance anything you've ever done shows up on their fancy little I.D. screens, including any war medals you might've gotten. They were just tagging those poor boys so the whole 'verse would know how unstable and how much of a threat they were."

"An the last ruttin' thing this boat needs is another gorram fugee." Jayne punctuated his point with a smack to the table.

"Jayne! Cap'n! Don't you think you're –"

Kaylee was cut off by Mal, his stare trained sharply on her. "It ain't something I'm interested in discussing, Kaylee. Alliance labeling or no, he is a threat. We brought him back aboard. Simon did what he could to keep him from dying on our boat. That's more than any sane crew would've done for someone like that. Crazy or no, still a Browncoat. But he ain't right in the head – no man could be after what he's been through. It's a shame, I know it, but the man's like to be less stable in the brainpan than River."

"Less stable, and stronger." Zoe quickly cut in, sensing the rising uneasiness in the room. "With as much military training as she does and the experience of the Captain to back it up."

Mal's arms folded as control returned to his voice. "Most likely a proficiency with firearms to rival Jayne, based on the hints the cortex had to spare."

Jayne shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Now that's downright unsettlin'."

A/N: Free hug and cookie for anyone who knows who William Lloyd Garrison is. And respect to everyone who laughed at the Mr. Garrison reference. Hopefully this is an improvement from the last chapter. I'd tell you to review, but I imagine since every fic on this sit commands a review, it won't do any good. Although, I suppose me just saying all that still counts as me telling you to review. So review.


	5. Listed MIA

DISCLAIMER: Firefly, Serenity and all characters, terminology, places and names used within those works and all subsequent licensed works are copyright Joss Whedon, Tim Minear, Fox, Universal and affiliates. Don't sue me.

**… And Out Come the Wolves**

Chapter 4  
Listed M.I.A.

His eyes shot open – observing, calculating. He tentatively moved his arm. It was a strange sensation, the knowledge of the pain that should be but isn't. Smoother. He could feel it in his veins, his body breaking it down. Shouldn't be much longer, he figured, before he could get up. He was alone and the door was closed – probably locked. He thought he heard Reynolds saying something about… him. They probably knew. With a barely noticeable sigh, he allowed his tired eyes to shut, resigned to his fate.

He would wait.

* * *

"It's already been decided." Before the sentence was finished, Mal was dismissively stomping down the hallway. Unfortunately, Simon was fast on his heels.

"But, Captain! Do you really think it's a good idea to place this purported lunatic in a confined space with my psychic sister?"

"Way I figure," Mal turned, sarcastic smirk full across his face, "They should get along great. 'Sides, I'll be there."

"You have no idea how much that doesn't settle me. Perhaps… I should go."

"You _volunteering_ to leave the ship?" Mal gave a humorless chuckle as he continued on his way. "Is it April Fools? Have you been dipping in to the smoother? Anyway, no."

"No!?"

Mal turned again, sharply, at the indignation in the boy's tone. "I don't know if you've noticed, but the girl does have a tendency to lose her marbles even when you're around Doc. Sometimes it's more often."

"But I'm also the one she usually comes to when she does have a breakdown!"

Simon's logic seemed to break through to Mal as the older man visibly relaxed. "Look – I ain't too terribly pleased with this situation my own self," Mal continued with a resigned sigh. "But it ain't like we got a choice. Wash can't exactly be doin' field work. And she's the only thing – resident nutjob or not – that seems to give a good gorram about anything I say."

Simon took a moment to collect himself, feeling his voice teetering on a scream. "I'm going to ignore the fact that you just called my sister a thing for the moment and concentrate on how I don't see your _commands_ keeping my sister's psychic abilities at bay."

"Don't worry, Doc. I'll just… tell her to cut it out."

* * *

He heard the lock disengage. He opened his eyes again, slowly now that the smoother had worn enough to let the pain of a too bright, too fast infirmary register in his mind. It was Reynolds. Great. Here comes either a speech or a gunshot, he suspected, considering the current situation. With the pounding in his head, Jude might prefer the gunshot.

"You took a hit back there."

"Oh?" Jude raised his head, mock confusion sprawled across his features, as he surveyed the room. "I hadn't really noticed."

"Nice t' see you're in the condition to joke. Perhaps meanin' you're in the condition t' talk?"

Jude sighed, laying his head back and closing his eyes. A weariness swept over him. Here it went, again, he thought ruefully. They knew, and now the speech. "What would we have to talk about, oh noble man in _brown_?"

Mal raised a defensive hand. "We got nothin' colorful to be talkin' on, neither brown nor purple. I mean t' be speakin' 'bout what we got around us now, and what might be ahead."

Mal saw the relief set into Jude's features, and he longed to feel the same. "Like I said, you got yourself shot a good bit back there. Doc patched you up some – best we could do. I ain't the Doc so I can't be answerin' those types of questions – you'll have t' hold 'em for him, but from what I gather you need real attention – that of a hospital. I 'magine you'll make it back to Paquin fine, where Zeke can - -"

A choked laugh cut Mal off. "Zeke ain't my keeper. I roll in there all tussled up, he'll just toss my cut at me, send me on my way n' make note not t' hire me for a while."

"Something 'bout the man gave me that impression. That the case, perhaps I got an arrangement we both might find suitin'." Mal watched the man who, with closed eyes, simply quirked an eyebrow. "I'm lead t' believe you were a Browncoat."

"Were you, Captain Reynolds, of the Serenity?" A certain smugness took hold of the otherwise serene sight of Jude's relaxed, closed eyes. "What gave me away?"

"Anyhow, that being so, I 'magine you'd recognize the name William Garrison." Mal paused, admittedly, for dramatic affect. His efforts were rewarded by slowly opened eyes and quite a depth of seriousness revealed by such. "He's the one callin' the shots on our next job. A job we need a good tech-hand at. My pilot tells me you're just that. After we get you to proper facilities, 'course. You agree you'll get a fair cut."

Mal turned to leave, giving the man time to think the proposal over. As he reached the door, thinking he heard Jude move, he stopped, placing his hand on the frame of the door to the infirmary.

Jude sat up, looking somewhat disgusted at the tubes and needles making his skin their home. "One condition, Reynolds. No hospital. Doc did a decent job. I'll be fine."

* * *

"The Captain tells me you're refusing to see medical help off-ship." Simon attempted at casual banter as he tossed the soiled bandages in their appropriate Bio-disposal container.

Jude quirked an eyebrow as he watched Simon work, prepping to clean his bullet-hole. "What? You ain't confident in your abilities, Doc?"

"I'm very confident – confident in the fact that what I can do for you here is nowhere near what you'll need to get on your feet."

"I live on the edge." Jude gave his best-practiced mischievous grin. "So, when can I get out of this here bed of yours?"

Simon leveled serious eyes on his patient. "Jude, I'm barely accepting of the fact that you won't be getting a proper blood transfusion from a professional medical facility. Don't expect me to be letting you out of the infirmary any time soon."

"I've been through worse, Doc. 'N with less help. 'Sides, the only proper hospitals around here are Alliance. The won't qualify me for a blood tranfusion." Jude waved his arm, calling attention to the ink that marred it.

Simon looked confused as he surveyed the various markings covering the boy's body. They looked old enough. "Any potentially harmful side effects of tattooing on the blood is dismissed after a year. It wouldn't matter."

"Yeah, well you're a doctor, not a security guard, with a likely military past. Most of what's on me has to do with _my_ military past – one I imagine they disagree with. And, either way, I ain't goin'. So, whenever you leave the room, I'm gonna yank all these funny lookin' tubes outta me." Jude watched with satisfaction as the horror of someone disturbing his pristine medical equipment marred the young doctor's features. "I 'magine that'll do myself and those tubes a deal of harm. Or you could just play at friendly and unhook me."

Simon gave a depreciating smirk as he bent to Jude's demands. He couldn't help but see that same stubbornness of the Captain in this boy. "Are all Independents quite so…" Annoying? Obtuse? Thick-headed? "Defiantly cheery?"

"You mean your Cap'n? Well, I don't know if'n y' heard, but we ended up losing that little scuffle with the Alliance. Lose something like that, you can either cry or laugh, and cryin' don't really suit me."

* * *

Jude sat heavily down onto his bunk in the passenger dorm that had been assigned to him. The journey had been a bit longer and a bit more laborious than he'd be happy to admit. The pain killers the Doc had given him had fully worn off now and the pain of reality wasn't too pleasant. He wrestled in his bag for a moment before reemerging with his Dedicated Source Box. The thing was somewhat antiquated these days, but reliable, and could stand up to a gunshot or two.

Zeke appeared immediately he opened the wave. "Well, son, how'd things go?"

"I've got the plans and the prototype."

"Everything ran according to plan, I assume."

The professional air that seemed to previous occupy Jude's countenance seemed to dissipate at that. "Not exactly. Got myself shot a bit. Didn't compromise the job. May compromise my return. I can transfer the plans t' you now, but y' may have to wait a few days on the proto. Reynolds' Doc patched me in exchange for me helpin' them out on their next job. Then they'll drop me."

"No transfer. Reynolds' part in this was to make a ruckus. If he did his job, should be stirrin' up some attention. Alliance'll be all over the Cortex. No need to put it somewhere so easy to find. I can wait. I'll play you M.I.A. if anyone asks."

Jude had to restrain himself from an audible gasp, very shocked but pleased with his usually cut-and-dry, business-first boss not objecting to these delays. "I'll report as soon as I've got more definitive details."

* * *

Mal barely withheld and audible gasp of surprise as he rounded the catwalk corner, headed for the cockpit, and nearly ran into a very angry looking Zoe. "Zoe," he said with a dismissive nod, but he made firm eye contact.

"Captain."

After a staring contest that went on a good bit longer than made Mal comfortable, he glanced around her very formidable figure. "Is there something wrong?"

"There's something I'd like to discuss."

"That being…?"

"Mostly just your descent into lunacy."

"My what? Zoe, you of all people, I would've expected to –"

"You expected me to what? Look the other way while you knowingly let an unstable, untrustworthy, highly dangerous soldier into our home?"

"We have had exactly one job since Miranda, one that didn't exactly pay retirement worthy money, and it's one we've only collected half of so far. We got his man all manner of hurt, so I'm not exactly holding my breath for the other half. We have lost all our previous employers because of what we did. We got a job offer and I ain't fixin' on turnin' it down. Not this one. And if you recall, I fought just as hard as you for another way out of this. And let's not forget how very recently I was strung up for crucifixion for suggest that another highly dangerous person leave our boat!"

"Why not this one?"

"Why not this one!? Why not the other two? He might actually help us instead of –"

"Mal!"

Mal found himself quickly quieting and paying attention. It was a very rare occasion that Zoe actually used his name. He figured as he wasn't dying, it meant he had stepped over a line he hadn't meant to.

Zoe took a step closer and stared him hard in the eye. "Not the people. The job. Why not this one?" The anger dispelled from her voice, she waited with genuine patience, waiting for his answer while saying a prayer to a God she didn't believe in that he would surprise her. "Don't say the money, because we ain't broke yet and Serenity's got fuel in her. Why won't you pass on this one?"

"Don't ask me that."

"Why not?"

"Because you already know the gorram answer!" Mal turned around, defeated – deflated. He just didn't have the energy for this – not with Zoe. That outburst took the last of his wing.

"Sir, all things considered, I don't think we need to be pulling favors for Old defeated officers."

The still too recent memory of Zoe taking off, staying out of contact with him for years to chase her Dust Devil dreams rushed into his head, but he wouldn't bring it up. "Zoe, out of anyone in this 'Verse you should understand loyalty."

"Yes, Sir, I do. Loyalty should be undying – but loyalty to the _cause_ – the _ideal._ Not to a man who has not found us fit to contact in 7 years and only shows up when he needs something. Not to an officer who never shared a battlefield with us."

"It's not a favor. As much as Loyalty might be why I took the job, it's still a job. We're flying and we're fueled, but for how long? We're limping, not running. And we got too many people in this 'Verse that we need to avoid to settle for that."

Seeing the defeated look in her eye, Mal walked away with a heavy heart. He could hash it out with anyone. Heck, he downright enjoyed a good verbal throwdown with Simon or Jayne. But Zoe? Fights like that made him think he might actually he steering them all towards disaster.

"Do you really think it's worth it?" Her voice came out much weaker than she hoped, but she didn't quite have the energy to strengthen it. "Loyalty to the man he called for the ceasefire?"

"Could be he saved our lives."

"And you think we're better off now? Alive?"


End file.
